


Remaking History

by StacPolly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StacPolly/pseuds/StacPolly
Summary: Hermione sets out to change history with the help of a time-turner and a contraceptive pill...and unwittingly changes the Wizarding World's future too. When Harry wakes up in a very different Wizarding World he must decide which world he wants to stay in, and whether  he can trust Draco Malfoy to get him out of this mess.This is a Harry Potter remix of Stephen Fry's wonderful novel "Making History". In other words I've 'borrowed' both the characters and the plot.Set after Half Blood Prince.





	Remaking History

“What the bloody hell was that?” Gingerly, Harry rubbed his head and peered up at the stone tower flickering in and out of his vision. Going by the egg-sized lump on his forehead, and the cobbles digging into his back, either he had collided with the tower, or the tower had—somehow–collided with him. In the wizarding world, after all, one never quite knew.

It certainly looked like Hogwarts, sort of Gothicy, and everything, though no doubt Hermione would know the proper terminology. He blinked and shook his head, sending a wave of nausea careering around his gut. The towers were there all right, and those little pointy domes on top, like an upturned funnel, but the stone wasn’t quite the right colour, and the whole thing just seemed a little… smaller.

Shuffling upright, he checked again, screwing up his eyes against the pain now thudding through his skull. Well, it may have looked like Hogwarts, but it wasn’t, that much was evident.

“You all right mate?” Slowly, he turned. Standing above him, in the falling dusk, was a ginger boy—about his age—big and burly, like a Beater, though not one he’d ever set eyes on before.

“I - I think so. Did I fall off my broom or something?”

“Broom? You lightweight, Potty, you’ve only had two pints!”

_Pints? Potty?_

“Wh - wh- who are you?”

“Who am I?”

Harry stared around. Something was really not right. To start with, he obviously wasn’t at Hogwarts. He didn’t recognise the building, or the square behind it, and the people, lining up to enter the thick oaken doors were dressed in jeans and coats; not a cloak in sight. In fact, he didn’t recognise the people either. A group of boys, around his age, was gathered around him staring down with varying expressions of amusement. Of course, it wasn’t exactly unusual to be recognised when he was out, that was why he and Ron frequently wore glamours, whilst Hermione liked experimenting with Muggle wigs (mainly, he suspected, to avoid having to deal with her own hair), but there was just something proprietorial in the way they were looking down at him, that suggested they—

Oh. Dear. Merlin.

“Malfoy?”

In the queue, the unmistakable white blond hair of Draco Malfoy, who by all rights should be in hiding, or perhaps even dead. The boy, Harry was sure it was Malfoy, glanced over, catching his eye for just a moment, and just as quickly dipped his head back into his scarf. But Harry had seen enough.

“Draco Malfoy!”

Where the hell had Malfoy been, since that dark, doomed, night on the Astronomy Tower?

“Oi! Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, look at me!” He scrambled up off the floor. Lying, half-stunned on wet cobbles was not ideal for a showdown with the boy who had let Fenrir Greyback into Hogwarts—and been the instrument of Albus Dumbledore’s death.

Malfoy turned slowly back towards Harry, his eyes sending a cool message that Harry didn’t know how to understand, as the crowd, sensing entertainment, began to murmur and stare.

“What the hell are you doing in Mug—.”

He never got to finish his question. With a sudden lurch he was sick all over the stone steps. And when he stopped, and tried to speak, he was sick all over again. It was a sensation he recognized, the peculiar being sick but not actually feeling sick sort of sickness that you got when someone had just cast a _Vomitus Jugis_. He hadn’t even seen a wand drawn.

“Oh bloody hell, Potty’s throwing up.” The chap who had asked him if he was all right, and somehow seemed to know his name, stepped back.

“Canna let him in like that, sorry Gents.” A man, kilted, someone official Harry guessed, although he was too busy being sick to get a proper look, came over. “You’ve had enough sonny. Best thing for you is for yer pals here to take you home.”

“Jesus Potter, you know how to spoil a night don’t you. It’s not even eight o’clock and I’m supposed to be meeting Jenny inside.”

Clutching his head, Harry reeled towards the tower, reassuringly solid under his fingers.

“Perhaps he injured his head when he hit the wall like that.” That was definitely Malfoy’s voice, cool, collected yet somehow different. Harry couldn’t really tell. Although he wasn’t vomiting quite so violently he was still in no state to speak. “Probably concussed.” The voice continued. “He seems a bit confused.”

“Malfoy?”

“D’ye know him?” That was the kilted official again.

Malfoy stared at him, and once more he had the feeling that somehow Malfoy was trying to communicate with him, but then he laughed and shook his head.

“Apparently not well enough for him to remember my name. We have some lectures together.” There was a pause. “Look, why don’t I take him to the Infirmary, I was only coming out for a quick drink anyway, should be studying really.”

Harry jerked forward.

“I’m not going anywhere with–"

And the vomiting started again. Malfoy was clearly doing it on purpose. For revenge, for some deeper purpose—or because he was just, well, Malfoy. The big chap, like a ginger Goyle, was talking.

“Thanks McCoy. I’d take him myself, but I’m meeting someone and she’ll be wondering where we got to. See you tomorrow Harry!” And with that, he stepped around the pool of vomit and through the doors.

“Some friend he is,” muttered Malfoy, gazing after him, a strange look on his face, half alert, half afraid. Given Harry had never set eyes on the ginger bulldozer before, he wasn’t exactly in a position to comment. And anyway, between the Hogwarts that wasn’t Hogwarts and a Malfoy that may have been a McCoy (he was sure there was a joke there), plus the rapidly swelling bump on his head and a heck of a lot of regurgitated curry, Harry wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

“Look,” he choked out, between spasms. “Can someone please tell me what in Merlin’s name is going on here?”

The crowd thinned and streamed through the tower door, leaving them alone. From inside came the thumping bass of some sort of club music. The kind Dudley liked.

“Just keep quiet and I’ll get you sorted,” hissed Malfoy, bending down towards his ear, under guise of helping him stand straight. “OK. _Finite incantatem_. Bloody hell, Potter, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’d been _Confunded_.”

No wand. No bloody wand. Draco Malfoy doing wandless magic.

"How d'you manage that without a wand?"

Apparently, his brain had no filter.

“Less of the w-word please. We’re in public in case you didn’t realise, and you’ve done enough damage with all your Malfoying. I think we’d better get you home. I’d take you to the infirmary but the way you’re opening your bloody great big mouth you’ll have us both killed. So just shut up and walk, lucky it’s not far.”

He grabbed Harry’s arm, dragging him across the square. Harry shook him off.

“What the—I may be drunk, but I’m not drunk enough to follow you down some dark alleyway. You killed Dumble—”

“Oh dear,” said Malfoy, all too evidently not sorry, as Harry vomited into the nearest flower bed. Two passing girls squealed. “So sorry. Total lightweight. Better get him home.”

“Home,” said Harry, clutching his head. Home sounded good. But Malfoy was clearly up to something and if his head would only stop banging, and his stomach would only stop spilling itself onto the tulips, he’d be able to figure it all out.

“Come along now, Potter. Time for bed-e-byes.”

Malfoy hooked an arm through his. Maybe, if he pretended to go along with him, he could find out what Malfoy was up to. Perhaps he’d show him where Snape was hiding. Harry nodded to himself. McGonagall and Kingsley would have to take them seriously if they found out something like that. But what about…oh! A sudden thought had his stomach plummeting once more. Merlin, maybe Malfoy was going to take him to— He scrabbled in his sleeve.

No wand.

Oh Merlin. He jerked his arm away, setting Malfoy spinning, but a moment later an invisible noose tightened around his wrist, dragging him back.

“Whe—where are you taking me?”

Malfoy only rolled his eyes.

“Pollock, where else? Sweet Merlin, Potter, I don’t know what you’ve been taking, but if it weren’t so likely to get us both killed, I’d quite like some.”


End file.
